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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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I have no idea what they are saying but that's a fine reason to just look at the pictures...
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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The Fallen Angel
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Here's a shot at the very first part -
some of the text precedes what's under the first picture.
Moriturae te salutant
Chapter I First day. Year 64 A.D. - Rome in flames
Nero
Rome is in flames. It's been burning since early evening. The plebian crowds can do nothing, the rows of water carriers are exhausted trying in vain to restrict the fire to the wooden huts in the shanty-towns. Now the brick houses are blazing up, herds of panicking horses are racing out from their stables.
The hundred-year-old pines[1] lining the main avenues blaze triumphantly above the demented crowd trampling through the ashes of the shops. The thermal baths and amphitheatres with their strong stone columns now shelter a howling, lamenting mob. Patricians mix with prostitutes. Actors still wearing their stage masks are drinking from the same gourds as legionaries. And the angry murmur spreads ever more strongly, "The Christians... the Christians!... THE CHRISTIANS!!!"
Surrounded by his small entourage of slaves and hangers-on, Nero leans over the balustrade of the hanging garden on the roof of his palace. He watches Rome as if in broad daylight, every detail of fire and shadow etched in his dilated pupils. Burning splinters, mixed with strange, wild fireflies are slowly falling from a ceiling of stars, he sweeps them away with the back of his hand.
All day he has feared it would rain, that would have wrecked the living scenario that the god had been composing for his subjects. He's also been afraid for the ineptitude of his lackeys, commissioned to spread the fire in the city and poison in the minds of the people. He smiles and turns over, settling himself on a broad surface of huge pearly-white roses from Sicily.
Afsilla is laughing with Regulus, chief of the Praetorian guard. He's interrupted an intimacy that's a little too obvious, there's a particular note in that laughter. Afsilla knows he's seen her, she just laughs louder, as if she's heard one of those stories that only slaves may laugh at. Clearing a passage through the guards, who have taken off their helmets in the heat of this unprecedented night, she approaches him without lowering her eyes at all. He rolls back over again.
The flames which are now approaching the Colosseum arelosing strength. They're growing weaker against the stones of the palaces and grandest houses. The most high-class districts are winning the battle. The heady scents of African flowers, mixed with young growths of dill, fill once more the delicate nostrils of the King of the World.
A hand slips gently under his toga, raising the folds over his belly. Afsilla's heavy braids, carefully twisted with golden torques, have invaded his thighs. He doesn't need to lower his eyes to see the swollen lips of the young Ethiopian seizing his member. He doesn't hear any more the roll of the the dice thrown by the veterans of the Hispanic wars. He closes his eyes, knowing that everyone's gaze is fixed on his abolla, the military cloak which hides his sublimely shameless performance.
Afsilla is very excited too. He understands her fingers have only left his member to feel her own clitoris. His penis is very small, but Afsilla, an expert fellatrix, always manages to draw it out as much as she can without hurting him. First she moves her tongue along his prick, then, when it's impaling into her throat, she probes the base of his balls with her tongue's darting tip, before licking slowly up the cock again, while she sucks with all her might for the first drops, colourless but already bitter. Nero cannot groan in public, but he feels seized, emptied by each prolonged suction. When he is about to surrender, Afsilla slackens her pressure, because she's not yet ready to come. He feels the rhythm of her finger on her clit increasing, as he enjoys the delicious matching movements of her tongue, circling more and more wildly around his glans, in increasingly tight concentric circles, moving from his foreskin to assault his now open orifice.
As Afsilla tightens her thighs, she feels a first, long squirt of thick sperm striking the bottom of her throat. She leans forward and enjoys the contractions of the emptying rod. Her hand, now freed from her won sex, moves on the imperial testicles, which she handles like small fragile nuts, awaiting his last shudders. Nero pushes away the head of his mistress, as if he fears the power of Afsilla's suction would take away a vital part from his being.
[1] Original les eucalyptus centenaires, but Gum Trees native to Australia certainly weren't known in Nero's Rome!
Pines burn quickly with their resin.
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The Fallen Angel
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That is an excellent translation Eulalia. This is surely a first!!...It must have been well written in the first place to translate so well. After the Fire of London the mob screamed "The Dutch...the Dutch....the DUTCH!!"....and then "The Jews....the Jews....The JEWS!!!".....and so on. The Duke of York did save many innocent immigrants from summary execution but many atrocities were commited. A Frenchman confessed and was hanged but it was later proved he was aboard ship at the time. The original monument to that effect has been replaced and the blame placed on one careless baker. Eye witness accounts swear that the fire broke out in several parts of the City simultaneously!
We would like to have a go at helping to produce the first English version of Moriturae....if you have the time and the stamina!!
We would like to have a go at helping to produce the first English version of Moriturae....if you have the time and the stamina!!
Thanks Admi and Melissa. I guess the next step would be to marry the picture plus its French text with the English one, probably beginning (yet another!) illustrated pdf for eventual archiving. Others can be added as it grows. Thanks as ever!
I'm glad to have encouraging feedback - in truth I was feeling fairly tired while doing it and I wasn't too sure about it myself, but decided it was worth posting to see what folk thought. As you say, it's pretty stylish in French, lots of words you're unlikely to hear while you're waiting in the queue in Carrefour, but it's a chance to expand your vocabulary! And in truth the translation by Lionrobe's Spanish friend isn't too bad, it's obviously an auto-translation that's been touched up a bit, some of the words are odd or downright wrong, and the sentence structure is often unEnglish, but I've seen worse!
I don't suppose anyone will complain if it takes a while, I'll do it a picture at a time (i.e. the text going with one picture) If you, Melissa & Julie, mean you'd like to do some 'translation-polishing' too, that would help it along, you've got the 'Spanish friend's' version to work on. But we've all got other irons in the fire, so no pressure!
Thanks again!
fit for purpose!